Back Again
by witch-annie
Summary: Sirius comes back, against all odds. But can Remus forget the pain of the loss? Slash. Oneshot.


Remus was in love with this place. Quiet, secluded, so far away from the bustling, heavily polluted London. He was tired of London, tired of the threat of war hanging over his head, tired of jumping from the slightest noise. He'd lived all of his life with fear – fear of himself, and often the man felt as if he was caged by it, as if he would never be free of its influence, no matter how hard he tried.

The little house, nestled between two hills, had been his refuge for the past weekend. Minerva had offered it, persuading him to go there and rest after the full moon. And immediately, he felt at home here, amongst the plush armchairs, thick carpets, wooden walls, framed paintings and oaken bookshelves. There was a serenity to this house, which permeated everything. It was as if in these walls, he was safe, as if these quiet rooms existed outside of the war-torn world.

The werewolf rose from the bed on which he had been reading, and made his way into the kitchen.

He walked gingerly, still weak and aching from the transformation two nights before.

As he walked through the archway, his lips curved in a smile.

There, leaning against the doorway, was Sirius, grinning as he shook the droplets of rain off his hair.

Silently, Remus walked up to him and embraced him, pulling the other man close, holding him as his life depended on it.

Six months. Six months of cold nights and frustration, of missing him so fiercely that even his dreams were full of Sirius, and Sirius alone. Six months of thinking that Sirius was dead, lost to him forever.

Lost to him for the second time.

He did not know how he survived that week after the Ministry. For days all he could see was Sirius falling through that godforsaken arch. He could not cry. He was beyond tears. Could not scream anymore – his throat was raw and throbbing. He just sat in his room, unable to move or speak or even feel, trapped in that one moment when all of his world had come undone.

It was Minerva who had found him, one hundred and eighty eight days ago, and told him that Sirius had been brought back.

Sirius had not asked how. He did not care how. He'd ran to the next room, half-delirious, torn between the insane desire to believe it was true and the rational thought that it was impossible. His heart had almost stopped when he saw Sirius – his Sirius – standing there, white-faced and disorientated, but very much alive.

They had not even had the time to talk – Minerva had Sirius taken away for examination, where no-one was admitted to him. Then Remus had been sent as an emissary to a werewolf clan in France, where he spent two months. When he came back, Sirius was already gone, recruiting wizards and witches all over the world.

Letters were exchanged, but those did not permit them to express the feelings both wanted to let loose, and other means of communication were not private enough. All Remus knew was that Sirius was well, and had been cleared of all charges after he was questioned, under the effect of Veritaserum, at the Ministry. Both wanted to be with each other badly, but they knew the work they were doing was much too important. There were too little of them, and their conscience did not let leave their jobs for a lover's embrace.

And now, here he was, as real as ever.

'I missed you,' Sirius murmured, pressing a gentle kiss on Remus' forehead. 'Sorry for taking so long. I came as soon as I could.'

'I know,' Remus raised his face, 'where were you?'

'Here and there. Italy at first, then Russia, Poland, Hungary, and Germany last of all. I wrapped up in Berlin, returned to the Headquarters and they told me you were here.'

'Yes, Minerva kindly let me borrow her house for the weekend.'

'Full moon was two night ago, wasn't it?'

'You still keep track?'

'Old habits never die,' Sirius smiled, then took Remus' chin and planted a ghost of a kiss just next to his mouth.

There was so much they had to tell each other, so many news to give and so many stories to narrate. Yet then, there, it somehow did not matter. Here, there was no war, no allegiances, no Orders, no Deatheaters, nothing. Just the two people who had found each other again.

'Remember the Christmas, sixth year?' Sirius asked, cupping his glass of steaming grog in both hands.

'You mean when we had that free lesson, and you insisted on spending it snogging?' Remus laughed, turning a little to look at Sirius with mock indignation.

Sirius, between whose legs Remus now sat, snickered.

'Your fault. You looked all dreamy and golden-haired at History of Magic that day, eyes far away and all. How could I resist?'

'So you had to waylay me on the way to the Library, push me into a classroom and kiss me? In front of a class full of second years? You know, I just remembered that I've never seen Minerva that amused.'

'Still screamed at us, and in my defense, I had no idea someone had dropped Stink Pellets in the regular Transfiguration classroom.' Sirius remarked, and both burst out laughing.

Remus leant back, his head resting on Sirius's chest.

'I miss those days.'

Sirius smiled bitterly.

'So do I. Who would have thought we'd live to see a war, eh?

'There is no war here,' Remus reminded gently.

'It'll be everywhere soon.'

Remus turned around, so that he was kneeling, facing Sirius.

'But not here, and not now.'

He leant in, hands on Sirius' chest, and their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. It had been too long. Much too long. But soon enough the kiss became more intense. Remus' head spun as an infinite amount of memories flooded his mind – memories of kisses just like that, memories of hands and mouths and breathless gasps, of tangled limbs and muttered proclamations.

'I missed this,' Sirius whispered when they surfaced for air, their foreheads still touching.

Remus smiled softly, tracing the other man's jawline with his finger.

'I missed everything about you,' he bit his lip, but Sirius' hands, locked on his back, would not let him more away.

'What is it?'

'I've lost you twice, Padfoot,' Remus confessed, in a voice that was barely audible, 'I don't think I'll survive another time.'

'Don't be silly.'

'"Silly?" Do you have any idea in how much pain I was? Can you imagine what it was like, to be living in the present and to have your mind in the past? To be constantly, incessantly thinking of the person who was no longer there? Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of you. The armchair where we read. The bed. Your cigarettes. Your magazines. Your clothes. I -'

'Moony,' Sirius pressed a finger to Remus' lips, 'it won't happen again. I'm not good at saying these things – okay, I'm shite, - but I want you to know I'll never leave you.' He grasped Remus' hand, squeezing it. 'Feel this? I'm here, and I always will be. You trust me?'

Remus looked up, and no matter how hard it was, he said -

'Yes, Sirius. I do.'


End file.
